


Moving Right Along

by Miri1984



Series: What Makes Me Happy [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Steve Rogers Feels, angst and almost smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:23:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984





	Moving Right Along

Bucky lets himself back into the apartment, wondering if Steve is going to be there. Nat had come back to Clint’s with a half full bag of chips and stalked into the other room giving Bucky a significant eyebrow that he steadfastly ignored, enjoying the latest idiotic television show that Clint and Sam had insisted he would like (he did quite like it, even if Parker confused him a little bit and he had a few choice things to say about Eliot’s distaste for guns).

It is dark, but that doesn’t mean much. Steve didn’t turn the lights on automatically — habits from before the war when they were always trying to save on the electric bill, and after the war he had better night vision and sometimes just didn’t notice when it was dark. 

“Steve?” Bucky throws his keys on the table and picks up the few empty beer bottles Clint left (he is awful at being tidy, way worse than Bucky is) and takes them into the kitchen.

Where he finds Steve, leaning on the counter, typing something into his phone.

“Why are you lurking here in the dark? I thought I was the assassin.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, then clicks the phone off. The sudden darkness doesn’t faze Bucky — his night vision is just as good as Steve’s — but the after glow seems to reflect on Steve’s jaw, highlighting his lips.

Bucky has had a few beers. And his serum is different to Steve’s — it’s slower, it’s cruder, it’s like a violent shove up rather than a delicate lift. That means he can get drunk, if he’s quick and he’s smart and he knows he wants to. Tonight he’d wanted to, after humiliating Steve in public, because he loves Steve, he really fucking loves him, and every time he hurts him (all the time, he hurts him just by being) he wants to bury it in something.

Clint gets that, and keeps the beers coming, and he wonders how much of that response is because he knows Natasha, he wonders how much is Clint empathising with Steve empathising with whatever the fuck these people have going on in their totally fucked up lives. Bucky isn’t a simple kid from Brooklyn any more, never was, not like Steve, but their lives right now need to be pared back to basics and sometimes the only thing that will do that is a hard shot of alcohol.

He knows Steve can’t do that. He wonders sometimes, if that would make things easier. But for now, there is a light buzz running through Bucky’s veins, a thrill of pleasures that he hadn’t known for more than sixty years, and then there is Steve, standing in the dark, quiet and still.

Suddenly he is a little afraid.

“What is it?”

Steve doesn’t speak, just steps forward, one hand coming around Bucky’s waist, and the other resting on his arm. He folds, a gesture of submission that feels _wrong wrong_ and tucks his head into Bucky’s neck, resting it into that place Bucky knows on Steve’s body makes him squirm. For Bucky, feeling the softness of Steve’s hair on his jaw, the heat of Steve’s breath on his neck, it awakens something so fiercely protective and violent in him that for a moment he feels like throwing Steve off.

_He used to be so small._

“Hey,” he says instead. “What’s going on?”

Steve shakes his head a little, then kisses him on the neck, pulling him closer and nuzzling deeper. If they’d ever done anything before Bucky had gone to war — if Bucky had ever taken one of those tiny moments that had always passed him by — he imagines it might have felt a little like this, because Steve does seem smaller, every action he takes, every gesture, none of it feels like Captain America, none of it feels like the Steve who stopped him from bleeding out on the ground of that car lot in Topanga.

This feels like Stevie Rogers — human disaster — the kid who fought like a deranged terrier and never gave up but who was so, so tiny and so, so fragile that a single punch should have stopped him.

But it never did.

“Steve?”

Steve’s other hand comes up and cups Bucky’s jaw, and then he’s kissing him, and it’s the most gentle, delicate thing they’ve ever done together, just… lips and tongue and Steve’s other hand comes up and cups his cheek and holds on and Bucky doesn’t know what to do except melt into it, opening his mouth and leaning back when Steve pushes him forward against the kitchen bench. Long and slow, calm and deep, like the ocean.

Bucky’s head swims in the feel of it, just Steve, his smell, and his hands, and his stupid Captain America body and it’s a long time before they even have to come up for air. “When you fell,” Steve says, finally, and Bucky at this point doesn’t even really know that language is a thing people use, because he’s been so lost in just _feeling._ “When you fell,” Steve says again, and suddenly he wants to run because Steve’s voice is catching and _Steve doesn’t do that_ “I honestly did not know what to do. I sat in a bar for hours trying to drink it into some sort of sense but the only thing I could see in front of me was years of _not you.”_

Bucky doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to be hearing this, because it’s too much but it’s also _not enough_ and he knows if he kissed Steve again maybe he could shut him up but if he did that also — maybe Steve wouldn’t forgive him.

“She pulled me back,” Steve kept talking. _Peggy._ When Steve had finished pouring his heart out Bucky was going to go to that old lady and give her the biggest bunch of flowers in the universe. And maybe the best bottle of whiskey he could afford. “But it wasn’t enough because if you’d both been there to come back to I would have found a way off that plane, Bucky. I would have come back to save you. _We_ would have come back to save you.”

 _No._ “Steve shut up,” Bucky moves to kiss him but Steve grabs his face and held it back, thumbs running over his cheekbones. 

“I love you,” Steve says. Bucky wants to hide. He wants to run away and hide in the deepest, darkest Hydra safe house he can find and never come out again because the sincerity of Steve’s feelings are _embarrassing._ “If I ever hurt you again it would kill me. So.” He leans forward and kisses Bucky and this time there’s none of the calm or the deep but all of the _fuck me right here and now_ about it, so much that Bucky thinks he could come without being touched if only Steve would keep doing what he’s doing…

He doesn’t. Of course. He takes a deep breath and looks at Bucky, those fucking puppy dog eyes, and those goddamn red as strawberry lips, pouting and glistening from Bucky’s _spit._ And he waits.

Because. Steve. Is. An. Asshole.

Words are really fucking hard right now. “What.” Bucky says.

“Mmm?”

“So what, Steve?”

Steve leans forward and whispers in his ear. “So,” he says slowly, and Bucky swears there is a hint of tongue in there which is _not_ something Steve has done before. “I will do whatever the fuck you want me to do, James Buchanan Barnes.” 

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ Steve.”

He can feel Steve’s lips curl up in a smile and that snaps something in Bucky, he grabs Steve’s arms and pushes him back on the kitchen bench. There is definitely part of him that is the Winter Soldier in this minute and usually that would make him very frightened, but Steve is… so many parts _not Steve_ but at the same time _more Steve than he’s ever been_ that the Winter Soldier part of him is confused.

The _Bucky_ part of him is suddenly confronted with Captain America Willing To Do Whatever He Says.

He would be totally lying to himself if he hadn’t fantasised about exactly that.

“You mean you’re gonna stop taking things slow?” he asks. Every muscle in his body is vibrating right now.

“No,” Steve says, and he’s totally relaxed in Bucky’s grip. “I’m not going to do anything at all.” He looks a little more serious, now, but the way his hips tilt towards Bucky’s, the way his fingers trail along the gap between Bucky’s shirt and his pants, the way his mouth is slightly open are making it very fucking hard to match that seriousness. “Not until you tell me to.” He gives a small smile. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve got the most experience here and I’m a bit terrified I’m going to screw it all up. So. Better if you tell me what to do for a change.” He gives that little half smile. “You’re in charge.” 

Bucky takes a really long, really slow breath. He considers, for a second, telling Steve he wants to take a run, or maybe eat some ice-cream, but the light from the dials on the microwave are enough to show that Steve’s pupils are so wide they are almost black, and they’re way too close to each other to not know exactly how much Steve would know he was lying when he said he wanted to do anything but be naked with him right now. 

He used to be the asshole in the equation, he seems to remember. But then again, he was never the one who had to get pulled out of the fight before he killed himself. 

Bucky leans up and kisses Steve again. Steve tangles his hands in Bucky’s hair and kisses him back. “So?” he asks.

“Slow sucked,” Bucky says, smiling. “Let’s go fast.” 


End file.
